


That Curious Little Room

by SneakyBunyip



Category: Star Wars: Rebels, Star Wars: Thrawn Series - Timothy Zahn (2017)
Genre: Established Relationship, F/M, Humor, Power Couple, Protectiveness, Secret Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-04
Updated: 2018-10-04
Packaged: 2019-07-25 06:48:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,894
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16192283
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SneakyBunyip/pseuds/SneakyBunyip
Summary: Grand Admiral Thrawn and Commodore Faro have mastered the balance between their working relationship and their personal relationship...most of the time....Other times they have to deal with beings like Grand Moff Tarkin and Darth Vader.





	1. Toaster

**Author's Note:**

> Follow me on tumblr: [SneakyBunyip](http://sneakybunyip.tumblr.com/)  
> Follow me on twitter: [SneakyBunyip](https://twitter.com/sneakybunyip)

“Commodore, a word.”

The sharpness in Thrawn’s voice snapped Faro’s attention away from the scowl she cast at the back of Darth Vader’s helmet. The “dark lord” had just turned his back on the Grand Admiral without so much as a courteous nod before addressing his First Legion troopers.

“Of course, sir.”

Thrawn spun on his heel and quickly exited the bridge. Faro struggled to catch up as his swift steps took them both through the Chimaera’s winding hallways into a small room that Faro had never actually been in before. In fact, it looked like a sparse broom closet…and it felt muted, the air stale and the walls covered in thick, rough material that seemed to absorb sound.

Thrawn stood half a meter away, his glowing red eyes shining brighter, his crimson pupils narrowed in a way that Faro had only seen a few times before and never directed at her. She felt the room cool several degrees.

“Is there something you wish to say, Commodore?” Thrawn asked.

Faro blinked. “No, sir.”

“Allow me to clarify then,” Thrawn tucked his hands behind his back. “Is there something you wish to say regarding Lord Vader?”

Faro stood perfectly still. She still maintained her assertive stance: head up, hands tucked behind her back just as Thrawn had done, but…it was hard to keep the sober face as he did.

In the end she broke into a snarl. “He disrespects you at every turn, grand admiral.”

Thrawn’s face was stone, but those eyes flared. “That is not your concern, Commodore.”

“So you don’t deny it?” Faro pressed.

“I am not a position to deny or confirm anything. As you are not in a position to object if I do.”

Faro fumed. “I will not stand by and allow that…that overgrown toaster to sully your name in front of the bridge crew, sir. Atollon was a success in comparison to many other attempts by moffs to bring down these rebel cells. I dare Darth Vader to do better-”

Thrawn took a step forward, cutting Faro short. In the cramp space it left nowhere for Faro to retreat, but retreat was farthest from her mind.

“This is a dangerous game we play, Karyn,” Thrawn said, quietly. “I will not allow vanity to get the better of my emotions as you should not allow your feelings for me to get the better of you.”

Faro’s shoulders dropped as the barrier of formality melted between them. Her expression hardened and she allowed emotion to strengthen her words. “I will not let anyone sully your good name, Mitth’raw’nuruodo.”

Thrawn’s stony expression broke. A small smile touched Thrawn’s lips. He closed the gap further between them. Although similar height, Faro felt as if Thrawn towered over her, his presence filling her vision, the woodsy scent of his skin taking her back to their first encounter…an interesting one to say the least. Thrawn lifted a single finger to glide along the edge of her chin. “My name will be my own to sully. The…‘toaster’…will do no harm I cannot repair.”

Faro scoffed, failing to resist a smile. She kissed his finger. “It sounds ridiculous when you say it.”

“And so eloquent when you say it,” Thrawn retorted, tilting his head, something he always tended to do when being cheeky, despite his innocent expression.

“Everything I say is eloquent,” Faro sniffed, but her smirk matched the glimmer in his eyes.

She collected herself. “I will…exercise caution in the future, sir.”

Thrawn took a step back and again they resumed their roles as Commodore and Grand Admiral. “Thank you, Commodore.”

“You owe me comfort food after this ordeal,” Faro added, her professional air slipping for a moment longer.

Thrawn arched an eyebrow. “I owe you nothing, but…I shall cook nu’luk faan all the same.”

“I haven’t the foggiest what that is, but I am sure I’ll be pleased.”

Thrawn brushed by Faro to reach the door, pausing a moment to brush his lips over the edge of her ear, just below her officer’s cap.

“You will be very pleased.”


	2. Broomstick

The verbal reprimand Commodore Karyn Faro received from Grand Moff Tarkin was entirely unfair.

It was also unfair that he chastise her on her own bridge in front of her crew.

Still, she took it on the chin. What other choice did she have?

“We are all part of the Imperial Navy,” Tarkin lectured, his long, skeletal finger pointing at her, then twirling as if gesturing to the whole navy. “For you to not coordinate with the Sixth Fleet on which rrroute you planned to take to the Onderon System is inexcusable.”

_ I am not the babysitter of Commodore Hewitt. _ Faro thought, sourly.  _ He had the same data as I did to navigate a proper route.  _

“With all do respect, sir,” Faro said, carefully. “The Imperial Navy  _ was  _ briefed last week on avoiding the very star cluster Commodore Hewitt decided to cut through. It is unfortunate that he ran into issues with pirates, however-”

“I am very well aware of the briefing,” Tarkin snapped. “I am the one who delivered it.”

“Yes, sir, I merely-”

“When communication breaks down, the system breaks down, Commodore. Furthermore…”

Tarkin’s diatribe continued for a substantial amount of time. 

_ This is so typical of high command _ , Faro thought, her eyes glazing a little as Tarkin droned on.  _ Hewitt was only given the rank of Commodore in the Sixth Fleet because he has some well-to-do relative in a Mid-Rim the grand moff wishes to impress. Any failure on Hewitt’s part is always blamed on someone else, it just happens to be my turn. And...by the stars, Tarkin can talk! Does he not need to breathe? Are his lungs as skinny as the rest of him?  _

Faro did not notice Thrawn walk onto the bridge.

It was Tarkin’s dramatic gesticulations that kept her attention. His long arms moved with graceful expression, his fingers extending like an operatic performer while his words were that of a boorish politician.

_ If the Separatists had won the Clone Wars would Tarkin be a holodrama performer now? I would watch a series of him… _

A slight shift of white caught Faro’s attention. 

_ Oh no… _

Over Tarkin’s shoulder, Faro could see the white uniform muted by the shadows Grand Admiral Thrawn had been standing in as he watched the exchange between the grand moff and his commodore.

Suddenly, Faro was paying very close attention to what Tarkin was saying. 

None of it was good.

Up until now, Tarkin had been a very powerful ally of Thrawn. If not for him, Thrawn would probably still be resolving petty squabbles and angering local governments across the galaxy rather than becoming grand admiral of the Seventh Fleet.

A single sour encounter with the grand moff could change all of that.

“It is as if you care little about the welfare of your fellow Imperials, Commodore.”

Faro winced - not because of the comment, not because of the sharpness of Tarkin’s tone. 

Because of the shadow that passed over Thrawn’s face. 

Most officers complained it was impossible to read what Thrawn was thinking. After years of knowing the chiss, however, Faro had picked up many of his cues. Now, the slight nostril flare, the mild tightness in his jaw and the brief squint of his scarlet-lined eyelids stood out to her like a fireworks display.

Thrawn remained still for a moment…

“You are a Commodore of the Seventh Fleet,” Tarkin went on. “You need to act like one.”

Thrawn’s boots were ever silent across the polished floor of the _Chimaera_ bridge, but to Faro they sounded like the thundering sound of charging reeks. She could have sworn she felt the heat of those glowing red eyes as they bore into the back of Tarkin’s head.

All that Thrawn had worked towards, every court martial evaded, every demeaning assignment completed, all the sacrifice and relentless perseverance...it would all be for nothing should Thrawn say exactly what Faro knew he would.

She would not allow that.

“Grand Admiral Thrawn!” Faro blurted and brushed past Grand Moff Tarkin to greet Thrawn, putting herself between the two men. “My apologies. I am sorry I am late for our conference.”

Thrawn stopped mid-step, his brow crinkling slightly.

“We did not have-”

“-time to discuss what is to be done about the Sixth Fleet’s predicament, I know…” Faro interrupted. “Again, I am sorry for the trouble I have caused, and we will work to assist Commodore Hewitt and the Sixth Fleet in any way we can.” 

Thrawn flashed her a look that could have been confusion or annoyance, though often times they were one and the same.

_ No helping that now. _

She spun on her heel towards the Grand Moff. “My deepest apologies, governor.”

Tarkin said nothing, the sheer abruptness of Thrawn’s interruption and Faro’s sudden groveling clearly caught him off guard. 

Lucky for Faro, Tarkin was not one to act upon his surprise.

“Yes, well, I will leave it to the grand admiral to issue an appropriate punishment for your incompetence.”

Faro heard Thrawn draw in a deep breath, ready to expel a retort. 

“Yes, sir!” Faro said, loudly again. “Thank you, sir.”

Faro did not breathe until Tarkin had successfully exited the bridge. When he did, she blew out a sigh and turned to the grand admiral. 

The annoyance and confusion had vanished. He was looking at her quietly. Yet, even his blank expressions were ones Faro could read.

_ He is waiting for an explanation.  _

“Sir,” Faro said, quietly. “Shall we get on with the meeting?”

“By all means,” he said, a slight tilt of his head indicating she lead the way.

Faro knew exactly where to go… 

...or rather, she thought she did… 

_ No…this has to be right. You don’t just imagine a curious little room like that. _

“Confound it! Where is your blasted room?”

“What room?”

“ _ The _ room. The funny little one you took me to when we had that ‘pleasant’ romp with Lord Vader.”

Thrawn nodded. “I had Rukh move it. It has nine separate locations on the  _ Chimaera _ . It is now here…” He stepped aside and gestured to a door that Faro could have sworn he was standing in front of on purpose. 

_ I have been aboard the  _ Chimaera _ longer than Thrawn, how is it there are secret rooms that only he and Rukh knew about? Did he construct them after he took over the flagship? Was this a trade secret of all admirals?  _

Faro shoved these questions aside, but made a point to do a thorough interrogation one day.

It was not quite a conference room, and not quite a broom closet. Covered in dark foam insulation, the space absorbed all sounds, including Faro’s indignant huff as Thrawn crowded in behind her. There was no furniture in the room, so she simply assumed it was made for short encounters. 

This would certainly be one of them.

“If I cannot defend you against Darth Vader, you certainly cannot defend me against Grand Moff Tarkin.” Faro said, briskly. 

Thrawn’s ruby eyes narrowed. “I am within my right to defend my crew as I see fit.”

“Normally yes, but not to him, no more than I have a right to defend you in front of Darth Vader.”

“I am your admiral, and I will not allow him to speak to you in such a manner.”

“He is the grand moff. He can speak to anyone however he-”

“Not to you.” The words came out as a sharp, his lip twitching into a snarl. 

Thrawn and Faro locked unblinking gazes.

“Grand Moff Tarkin,” Faro said, evenly, “can break your career just as easily as Vader could snap my neck.”

Thrawn matched her even tone. “I would have said nothing that would have jeopardized my position in the Empire.”

“Incorrect. You would have said: ‘Governor, you are in no position to reprimand my subordinate. She is not to be held responsible for the mistakes of Commodore Hewitt, who has a history of poor choices that result in dangerous predicaments such as this. If you wish these infractions to cease I suggest you take it up with whomever assigned him to that position.’”

“Precisely.”

Faro blinked first.

“...Thrawn…”

“Yes?”

“Thrawn, you cannot say  _ that  _ to Grand Moff Tarkin.”

“Why not? It is the truth. Tarkin miscalculated when he hired Hewitt and he should acknowledge this.”

Faro pinched the bridge of her nose. 

Thrawn’s hands unclasped and he took a small step forward. “You are upset,” he observed.

“Yes, but not at you,” Faro sighed, taking off her officer’s cap and running a hand through her short, dark hair before replacing it again. “You are right. It  _ is  _ the truth, and in a perfect galaxy you would be in your right to express such a truth. We are not, however, in a perfect galaxy. Even as a grand admiral you must tread carefully around these political giants, especially Tarkin. Our careers will rise or plummet regardless of how well of a job we do, and more often or not it will be politics that shake us from the ladder.”

“I will not let you fall,” Thrawn said, firmly.

Faro’s stoic face broke into a slight smile. 

She smiled because she believed him. 

She smiled because for all the sharp wit, stunning intelligence, insightful wisdom, Thrawn also held a boyish naivety of how the galaxy worked. 

She hoped he always held on to that optimism…it was, after all, a large part of why she loved him. 

The corners of Thrawn’s mouth lifted. “In any case,” he continued, “you should not have to apologize to that…the…”

Thrawn touched a finger to his chin, his eyes flickering with deep thought.

“...the what?” Faro asked.

“A moment…while I consider,” Thrawn replied quietly. Then he nodded to himself. “Ah, yes. You should not have to apologize to that  _ very thin man _ .”

Faro arched a thin eyebrow. “Admiral...are you attempting to  _ insult  _ the grand moff?”

“You called Darth Vader a ‘toaster’, I thought we were simply making observations.”

“Well...yes. I observed that Vader looks like a ‘toaster’ because it is insulting to do so. Tarkin being very thin is not an insult. He just is...that.”

Thrawn’s eyes flashed in understanding. “So we are to compare them to inanimate objects. Very well.” Thrawn tucked his hands behind his back, his chest puffing out in renewed confidence. “You should not apologize to a  _ broomstick _ .”

Faro did not often give in to laughter. 

A smirk or a chuckle was rare on her lips, but a short laugh burst from her before she could reign it in.

Her gloved hand half-covered her mouth until the grin was safely under control. “No. No, I suppose I should not. Well, admiral, what sort of punishment shall you be dispensing? The broomstick demands a sacrifice.”

No one would ever believe Commodore Faro if she claimed that Grand Admiral Thrawn had a dashing smile. No one would believe the man smiled at all unless it was fueled by enigmatic smugness. But...there it was: faint, quiet, his lips never pulling back more at the corners than slight angles. The smile did not reach his cheeks, but his eyes...their usual glow giving in to a glimmer like a blood-red pool glimmering in sunlight.

“We shall be watching the Antiques Starroads Show tonight.”

Faro’s grin dissolved. “No.”

“Oh yes,” Thrawn confirmed. “An Ithorian archaeologist will be bringing in a fortieth century Shah’ring cooking pot that still retains some of its original paint. A devronian farmer is promised to have found a Corellian fifth century civil war weapon at a yard sale for  _ five _ credits.” 

Faro could not be sure, but it seemed as if small hearts had actually formed in the center of Thrawn’s crimson pupils. 

“You are a merciless, hardhearted leader. I am putting in an  _ immediate _ transfer. Admiral Piett would  _ never  _ dole out such punishments.”

“Did I not mention it was a marathon?” Thrawn’s smile was now melding into mischievous and Faro’s heart begrudgingly thumped with excitement. 

Thrawn took a step forward, as if the move eased him out of his role as grand admiral and into the role as devoted partner. He leaned down slightly and pressed his lips against Faro’s brow then pressed the prominent ridges of his brow against her forehead. 

Neither of them were much for affectionate contact, but this gesture filled Faro with a satisfactory warmth that soothed her more than she would ever be able to express. 

“I will take my punishment with grace.” Faro sighed. “If the broomstick demands it...” 

“Your  _ bev’vur  _ requests it.” Thrawn purred.

Faro pulled her head away and scoffed. “I called you that  _ years  _ ago. You will never let that go, will you?”

“I had not planned on it, no.”

“Fine,” Faro sniffed, and resumed their affection touch, this time her nose brushing against his cheek, the warmth of her breath against the sensitive pores of his alien cheekbones. “If my  _ bev’vur _ requests it, your sparrow will comply.”

Thrawn’s eyes glowed briefly. “You remember.”

“I do.”

It was long ago...but she would never forget...

They stayed in the room a few minutes longer than either of them should have allowed…

...just long enough for the “broomstick” to hop into his lamda and fly away.


End file.
